The Leaf Water Incident
by Veilfire Runes
Summary: Travelling in January was never going to be kind to the Fellowship, no matter how well prepared they were for the weather. After several days on marching through non-stop rain, someone was bound to get sick. A Fellowship fic.


A short fic requested by Gerakim (erarlumo on Ao3), who asked for a sickfic or hurt/comfort fic featuring Samwise and Aragorn in particular! Here you are, my friend, I hope you like it.

Author with a cold gets prompted to write fic about characters getting colds. Go figure.

* * *

There were a few things about being on a Quest, Samwise thought, that Mister Bilbo had deliberately glossed over when he'd told his story. Not that he blamed the old Hobbit - certainly if he ever got the chance to be a tale-teller, _he_ would not be going into details of the lack of good food, comfortable sleeping arrangements (who sleeps during the day, 'cept owls?), and the all-together bizarre behaviours of the Big Folk. But still, he'd have liked to have been warned, they'd had plenty of time for warnings back in Rivendell.

But now they were two weeks on the Road, such as it was, since it was not really a road at all, even if Strider was quite insistent that he knew exactly where he was going. In the dark. Sam wasn't exactly sure that was true, but Gandalf seemed to trust him, and Mister Frodo, and that had to be good enough for him. Course that meant an awful lot of stepping in rabbit holes for the rest of them. Kindly enough, Master Legolas and Master Gimli (who somehow _could_ see where they were going in the dark) were on-hand to help out a poor Hobbit (or pony) who might happen to blunder into an unseeable trap.

Early January, though, was not a kind month for travelling, as everyone sensible knew. Which, he supposed, was the point as they were meant to be travelling in secrecy - again, why they were travelling during the night instead of the _day_ , like _respectable folk_. But the weather was awful, day and night, cold and bitter biting wind. Strider swore there wouldn't be snow this low down from the mountains, meaning instead, there was simply a great deal of rain.

By the end of the first day of walking in non-stop downpour, they were all heartily soaked and miserable. Masters Gimli and Boromir were almost creaking in their armour, and all of the Hobbits were shivering in their cloaks, and Sam was no exception. He couldn't remember ever feeling quite so wretched. His cheeks and jaw ached from the constant blasting cold, his toes were almost numb from tramping and slipping through the mud, and he was fairly certain that he never wanted to take his hands out from under his cloak again. He was so miserable, in fact, that he did not have it in him to complain when Strider announced that they would be continuing to march through the day as well, taking advantage of the rain to hide their tracks. And on they marched, resting only briefly at intervals.

When evening came again, the rain still poured, unrelenting and Sam was beginning to wonder what being they had angered to unleash this much rain. Perhaps one of the _Rodyn_ that Master Legolas had mentioned on occasion? He didn't know; such things were far beyond the knowing of a simple Hobbit like himself. Whether it was one of them, or just the sky, he didn't care. He just wanted it to _stop_.

By the second morning, Sam's feet had stopped being numb just to wail at him in protest and his eyes were gritty from a lack of sleep, and he would swear that he was never going to be dry again, Strider had finally conceded that shelter would, in fact, be more beneficial than more walking, and disappeared for long stretches with Master Legolas to seek adequate shelter for five Big Folk, four Hobbits and a Pony. Somehow, Sam doubted they'd find anything decent, or at least, was not Goblin-infested (oh he remembered _that_ part of Mister Bilbo's story very well). Merry and Pippin, scoundrels that they were, had taken to sheltering under Master Boromir's large cloak, while he had given up his spot next to Bill for Mister Frodo's sake - the pony made an excellent windbreaker, but Mister Frodo needed it more, so Samwise had graciously vacated the best spot to his master.

A shelter was, by some miracle, located and they all gratefully followed Aragorn to the tiny alcove he'd found in an embankment. What made it far better was the fact that he had managed to build a sort of extension, creating a makeshift roof of woven branches and a cloak. Adding insult to injury, they were not allowed a fire, but at least they could all sit on the somewhat dry dirt and hope the rain let up soon.

Sam gave a miserable sniff, huddled next to his fellow Hobbits. They'd shed their soaked cloaks, swapping them for drier blankets, but that didn't stop the steady drip drip drip that was streaming off their hair and rolling down the backs of their necks. He coughed and then sniffed again, trying to muffle further coughs from echoing in the small space.

His efforts did not escape notice as much as he would have liked. Sharp as you please, Aragorn's grey gaze snapped over him, narrowing with the Look - it was a look with _too much_ in it, and it went through a body too fast. Gandalf had a look like that sometimes and it usually didn't mean anything good - that was how he'd ended up on this quest after all. Strider's look, though, was one that meant that the one on the end of the look was gonna end up being asked a whole lot of questions and drinking one of his foul-tasting brews.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to ward off an examination. His voice cracked in the middle of his sentence, betraying him, and sending him into another fit of coughing. He couldn't be sick! Mister Frodo needed him, like making sure he was eating and he was warm enough and such, and he couldn't do that if he was sick. It was his responsibility, he'd _promised_.

"If you are," Strider said with a wry grin, "I'll eat my boots. After that rain, I'll be impressed if all of us do not end up with a cold." Legolas ducked into the shelter, smoothing water back from his face with a grin and earning an ugly look from Strider for his trouble. "Except you, naturally. Did you find anything useful?"

The Elf shook his head, sending droplets flying. "Alas not. This area is unfortunately flat, and the trees are not old and large enough to be of much help. This is the best cover that could be found."

Aragorn sighed. "I expected as much." He reached for his pack, pulling it over Master Gimli with an apologetic grimace. "I am certain I have some herbs that will help stave off that cold, Samwise. It might be best if we all take it, in fact. We will have to drink it cold, regrettably."

This prompted a collective groan from the rest of the Fellowship. Though Sam was starting to feel slightly stuffy, he managed a groan as well - there was little worse than cold tea. Legolas and Aragorn quickly began a conversation in Elvish that held Sam's attention for a few moments - Strider showing the herbs he wanted to use, steeping them in a small pot of cold water as he did so, the Elf nodding and chattering away, gesturing occasionally, watching Strider with fierce concentration. It was interesting to watch, even if he couldn't follow the words; he'd always wanted to learn the Elven tongue, and Master Bilbo had tried to teach him and Mister Frodo both, but the complicated language had gone right over his head. It was a terrible shame, but maybe it would be easier learning straight from an Elf? If he could ever get over his shyness and actually _talk_ to him.

Legolas gave one final nod and then departed back out into the rain, looking no more perturbed than if he was out for a stroll in the summer sun. Big Folk were just _odd_.

"Legolas has gone to look for more herbs," Aragorn explained, handing Sam a mugful of the cold herbal brew. Was it even really tea if it was cold? It was just...leaf water if it wasn't hot. _Leaf water._ But he drank it obediently anyway, pulling a face when Strider wasn't looking. "In the meantime, we should all get some rest. Hopefully the tea will help stave off any lingering illness."

Sam didn't have it in him to complain. The warmth of his fellow Hobbits crushed against him, (and when had another blanket been draped over their foursome?) was making him sleepy. The exhaustion of the last few days was making itself known with a vengeance as well.

No, he thought as he drifted hazily towards sleep, if he got the chance to tell this story to little Hobbits one day, he would leave out the parts where they walked in the rain until they all got sick.


End file.
